


Anxiety Got Me on the Run

by CitrusVanille



Series: Nerves Arc [2]
Category: McFly
Genre: Kissing, M/M, stage fright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-03
Updated: 2008-07-03
Packaged: 2019-03-01 09:37:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13292088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CitrusVanille/pseuds/CitrusVanille
Summary: Danny finds Dougie in the big tree behind their house.





	Anxiety Got Me on the Run

Danny finds Dougie in the big tree behind their house. The branch Dougie is perched on is shuddering in a somewhat disturbing fashion, though whether it is because Dougie is shaking or because he is bouncing is not clear. Maybe both.

“We’re meant to be inside, you know,” Danny says, and attempts to hide his amusement when Dougie squawks, flails, and grabs hold of the tree-trunk.

“A little fucking warning would be nice, you bastard,” Dougie snarls at him, and Danny takes it as progress that Dougie has managed to form words at all, never mind what they are.

“Sorry about that,” Danny says automatically. Then, “You want help getting down from there?”

“No,” Dougie responds predictably. “I’m all right here.”

“Don’t make me get Tom out here,” Danny warns him.

“You can’t,” Dougie replies, sounding incredibly smug for someone whose voice is pitched almost an octave higher than normal. “The people from the station are already here. I saw them get out of their car. He won’t leave them.”

Danny scowls. Dougie’s right. And if Danny were to go in and tell Tom in front of the interviewers – he notices Dougie did not use the word himself – that Dougie’s up a tree and won’t come down, Tom will kill him as well as Dougie once the team there for the interview have been safely got rid of.

“You’re a fucking bastard,” Danny tells him conversationally.

“Still not moving,” Dougie returns, and Danny can see him tighten his grip on his branch.

Danny grunts and eyes the tree more critically as he moves closer. He’s climbed it before, of course – it’s always fun to sneak up to Tom’s window from the roof of the garage and scare the living daylights out of him, and it’s a good escape route when Tom is unreasonably enraged at being woken at five in the morning to see the sun rise on the rare occasion the sky is not completely overcast – but he’s never climbed it so high, or with the purpose of actually _staying_ in it. He’s not sure it will support his weight for very long. The fact that Dougie has clearly been sitting there for some time without falling to his doom is not particularly reassuring. Dougie is, after all, very tiny.

Danny tests one of the lower branches he usually uses, and swings himself up.

Dougie makes a squeaky kind of noise from above him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m coming up,” Danny explains, wondering why that is not obvious.

“But,” says Dougie, and there’s a good deal of movement and rustling from over Danny’s head. The entire tree shudders.

“If you fall and break your neck Tom will kill me,” Danny remarks, most of his attention focused on hoisting himself up to the next branch. “If you make me fall I will kill you. Neither of these will save you from going into that interview.”

“But,” says Dougie again, and he really does sound ill, Danny thinks.

He says, “I will also kill you if you puke on me.” He hauls himself up onto Dougie’s branch, and braces himself against the trunk, making sure he’s steady before he looks up to see where Dougie has gotten to.

Dougie is now halfway out on the limb, holding tight with both legs and both hands, looking terrified and even more ill than he sounds. The continued shivering of the branch is due both to the fact that Dougie is shaking rather violently and the fact that he is, indeed, bouncing – though how he’s managing that Danny is not quite sure. It looks quite silly, actually, and Danny has to forcibly remind himself that laughing really probably isn’t the best course of action at the moment.

“Am I going to have to come out there?” he asks, and the thought helps to sober him, because, honestly, he’s not even sure how the branch is still supporting Dougie. He really doesn’t want to fall.

Dougie’s eyes widen, his fingers clutching the branch so hard Danny can see his knuckles turn white. He doesn’t move. He’s not even bouncing anymore.

Fuck, Danny thinks, and doesn’t bother to suppress a sigh. Very, very slowly he starts to sidle out along the branch, keeping a hand on the trunk for as long as he can. The branch shudders underneath him. “Fuck,” Danny says, and looks up at Dougie again, who is still sitting halfway out and _not fucking moving closer_. This is not good.

“Dougie, come on,” he says, because he really, really doesn’t want to go any farther.

Dougie shakes his head. “Can’t,” he says, and bites into his bottom lip.

“Dougie.” Danny gets that Dougie hates interviews. He gets that Dougie’s ill and upset. He really does. And he’s happy to help. But this is just.

“No, I.” Dougie chews on his lip for a minute. “I’m stuck.”

Danny blinks at him. “You’re stuck?”

Dougie gives him a look that reminds Danny far too strongly of a lost puppy. “I don’t want to fall.”

“You don’t want to fall.” Danny wonders if comparing Dougie to both a lost puppy and a really dumb cat within a few seconds is too much. “You climbed a tree.”

“Yes.”

“And now you’re stuck.”

“Yes.” Dougie is worrying his lip again. Danny kind of wants to bite it, too. Not that that is a particularly useful thought at the moment.

“Fuck.”

Dougie somehow manages to look ill, terrified, and embarrassed all at once. His bottom lip is bright red.

Danny takes a deep breath and starts to inch farther out onto the branch, trying not think about it too much as the branch dips under his weight. Dougie makes a high-pitched noise in the back of his throat, but doesn’t move. By the time Danny is within arm’s reach of Dougie, he’s pretty sure the branch is bending more than is safe, and he’s praying the breeze doesn’t pick up.

Dougie’s eyes are flicking between Danny, the branch, and the ground below. Danny wishes Dougie wouldn’t look at the ground, because it makes _him_ want to look at the ground, and he’d really rather not. Danny kind of wants to tell Dougie how incredibly ridiculous this whole situation is, but the look on Dougie’s face makes him swallow the words. He can’t help feeling badly that Dougie’s stage-fright is so awful he feels he needs to hide in trees he can’t get out of on his own. Said tree creaks ominously and Danny feels slightly less badly and slightly more eager to get the hell back on solid ground. “Come on,” he says, and reaches out a hand.

“I.” Dougie swallows so hard Danny thinks he can hear it. His eyes are fixed on the ground.

“Dougie. Look at me,” Danny commands. He’s still holding out his hand, even though he’d really rather have both hands on the branch.

Dougie looks up. “Danny, I.”

“Give me your hand.”

“Danny –”

“Dougie. Give me your hand.” Danny keeps his eyes firmly fixed on Dougie’s, willing him to pry his fingers from the bark and reach out.

Slowly, slowly, he does, and Danny catches his hand, griping it tightly in his own.

“Now. Slide closer.”

“Danny.” It’s half-whine, half-plea.

“Come on, Doug.” Danny tugs lightly on the hand he’s holding, and Dougie twitches. “Come on.”

Lip firmly between his teeth, Dougie creeps closer, so slowly he’s barely moving. Still holding Dougie’s hand, Danny starts to inch backwards, closer to the trunk. The branch shudders and groans under them, leaves rustling. Finally, finally, Danny’s back hits the trunk. He waits to breathe his sigh of relief until Dougie reaches him – still clutching Danny’s hand so tightly Danny wonders rather vaguely whether he’ll leave bruises – only then the air gets knocked out of him when Dougie throws his arms around his neck, smashing him back against the tree.

“Oof,” says Danny, and he grabs wildly behind himself for the trunk to keep from overbalancing and falling. It would be pretty stupid for them to fall now, he thinks.

“Fucking, fucking tree,” Dougie is saying, and Danny can feel his lips moving against his neck. It makes him shiver a bit, but he doesn’t think Dougie notices, because Dougie’s trembling like someone’s put him on high-speed vibrate.

“Um,” says Danny. “Yeah.” He awkwardly pats Dougie’s back with his free hand. “Can we get down now?” He really doesn’t want to spend anymore time in this fucking, fucking tree. And the ticking clock in his brain – which, oddly, sounds like Tom making clock noises – is telling him that he has negative time to get Dougie back to the living room for the interview.

Dougie nods, chin bumping Danny’s shoulder, but doesn’t let go.

“Um,” Danny says again, and taps Dougie’s spine.

Dougie releases him abruptly. “Right,” he says, and his cheeks look a bit pink.

With a bit of careful shifting, Danny manages to turn around and climb down far enough that he has a clear shot at the roof of the garage. He can hear Dougie scrambling down behind him. Within moments, they’re both firmly on the roof of the garage and Dougie looks like he might either strangle Danny again with hugging, or burst into tears. Danny really hopes he doesn’t do either, though he supposes he’d rather risk strangulation.

“We can go in through Tom’s window,” Danny says, already moving towards it. He glances back to see that Dougie isn’t following him. He frowns. “What now?”

“I’m not –” Dougie starts.

Danny doesn’t let him finish. “Yes, you are,” he says and crosses the roof again. “I didn’t get you out of that fucking tree for you to camp out up here.”

“Fuck you,” Dougie snaps, and crosses his arms over his chest.

Danny opens his mouth, but this time Dougie cuts him off. “Fuck you, and fuck the fucking tree.”

“Language, language,” Danny scolds, and wonders if he’s channeling his mum. “Do you kiss your mum with that mouth?”

“No. Just you,” Dougie retorts sassily, then snaps his mouth shut as he turns bright red and fixes his eyes on his shoelaces.

Danny stares for about half a second, then bursts out laughing. “Guess you do,” he says, and wonders if that should be his cue, but Dougie’s not laughing.

“Fuck,” Dougie says, a bit more faintly. “I can’t –” and suddenly his crossed arms are less an act of defiance and more a way of further curling in on himself, holding his stomach like he’s not entirely sure he’s not about to see his breakfast again.

“Dougs,” Danny steps closer and puts a hand on Dougie’s shoulder.

Dougie jerks away, visibly struggling to keep from being sick. “Fuck you,” he says a third time. “And fuck Tom. And fuck their fucking, fucking cameras. I hate –” he swallows a few times, arms tightening around his stomach. “I hate feeling like this. And I can’t. I just.” He swallows again, hard, and brings the back of one of his hands up to his mouth.

“Hey, Dougs, look at me,” Danny says, trying to make his voice as soft and gentle as possible. It feels a bit strange, but it seems to work. Dougie lowers his hand – wrapping his arm around his middle again – and meets Danny’s eyes. Danny tells him, “You’ll be all right,” and leans in to kiss his mouth, hand sliding almost automatically into his hair. After a moment he pulls back.

Dougie’s eyes flutter open and he stares, frozen in place, until Danny retracts his hand. “Don’t make me carry you,” Danny says.

Dougie’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

Danny grins at him, grabs his wrist and yanks him in for another kiss – hard and quick – then spins away, dragging him towards the window, ignoring Dougie’s sputtered – and far less convincing – protests. He’ll survive this one, at least, Danny thinks, as his mouth curves into another grin.

Dougie has fallen silent by the time they reach the stairs inside. Danny feels his grin spread, and gives himself a well-deserved pat on the back.

**END**  
 


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